Mirrored
by fiesa
Summary: The day he fought with Tifa, Aerith told him not to come anymore. Cloud/Tifa, OneShot


**Mirrored**

_Summary: The night he had a fight with Tifa, Aerith told him not to come any more. OneShot._

_Set: A short time after FFVII AC, Sequel to "Visions" and "Just another field of flowers"_

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It had been a peaceful day.

Tifa had forced him to take them – her, Marlene and Denzel – out for a picnic to the plains east of Midgar, and after some grouching, he had obliged. Surprisingly, he hadn't felt like objecting too much, had just done it to keep up his reputation. On such a beautiful day like this, a picnic really seemed to be the perfect way to spend time.

His intuition had proven right.

It had been peaceful, hours filled with something almost similar to happiness. He had returned home, promised Marlene they would go out like that again, had made sure Denzel and her were off to bed and had sat down in the bar, watching Tifa behind the counter.

The _Seventh Heaven_ was empty. It was Wednesday; no one who had a regular job could afford to go out during the week. There still was too much insecurity, too much fear daily life would be disrupted once again, people would be killed once again and the world would change once again. He understood the peoples' sorrows. Midgar – the entire planet – would need some time until it was able to get used to the new circumstances they suddenly had found themselves in.

He didn't even know exactly how it started, but suddenly Tifa was yelling at him. And he was yelling back, his fists and jaws clenched. Her green eyes were sparkling furiously, her face contorted in anger, and even while a part of his brain thought she was even more beautiful when she was angry another part told him he had to react upset. The yelling got out of control, Tifa punched a hole in one of the tables – even if she was in rage, she remembered to tackle one of the old tables that needed replacement anyway – and Cloud stormed out of the bar, fuming.

It had been something about him, as always. She had thanked him for the day, if he remembered correctly. Maybe he had reacted a little bit too short because he still was remembering the figures of Aerith and Zack sitting beneath the tree he, Tifa and the children had slept under a few hours ago. Somehow, she had figured what – or better, whom – he had been thinking about, again, and the fight had started. He knew it was his fault. And he knew – with all the clarity his brain could muster in his state – that, when he returned, there would be his dinner on the table and she would be waiting for him in his room, always being the one to apologize. And then she would disappear into her own room quietly. The next morning she would act as if nothing had happened, except he would be able to see the sadness in her eyes once again.

And he would run, once again.

-V-

"You shouldn't come here anymore," Aerith tells him as soon as he opens his eyes and sees the whiteness surrounding him.

"Why?" He asks and tries to see something, even though he slowly gets used to the fact she doesn't appear before him any longer. It's just the whiteness and her voice and her presence that fills up his entire senses.

"You think I like it if you get yourself in danger so I have to get up and tell you it's still not your time to die?"

She almost sounds annoyed. Except he can hear the loving undertone in her voice.

"It's the only way to talk to you."

"He's stupid," a male voice interrupts. "If stupidity was a disease, he would have been dead long ago."

"Oh, shut up," Cloud tells his dead best friend and turns back to Aerith. Or turns to the place he thinks she is.

"You are alive, Cloud," Aerith tells him and he can almost see her smile. "Stop torturing yourself for that. It makes me angry." She sounds wistful. "And it makes Tifa sad. You're not alone anymore, and you know that."

"Yeah."

She's right – he knows he's not alone. But he still can't muster up the courage it takes to live once again.

"Good," Aerith tells him and the whiteness fades. "You'll stop doing stuff like that. Go back and apologize properly and don't you dare wake me up in the middle of the night once again to stop you from entering the Life Stream before your time has come."

"But…"

"No buts, Cloud. Don't make me repeat my words. God, I really feel like a mother telling her child to grow up!"

Her voice fades away. A last smile – a last laugh. He feels like a child, too – pushed aside by his mother in order to start living by himself, in order to live his own life. The fear gripping his heart makes him cling to the whiteness surrounding him.

"Aerith – I can't – I'm not…"

"Stupid little boy," she tells him. "Of course you can. I love you."

And she's gone.

-V-

It has to be something in his steps, in the way he pulls himself up the stairs to his room where he knows Tifa will be waiting that alerts her because she comes rushing towards him and catches him right in time before he collapses on the head of the staircase flight.

"Cloud! What happened?"

"Some monsters on the highway," he tells her, almost smiling. "I got them properly, though, don't worry."

"You're hurt! Wait – I'll help you…"

She drags him into his room and he tries to help as much as possible but his side still hurts terribly. The wound looks even worse in the light of the bedside lamp, raw flesh and red blood and torn muscles. Tifa has to be used to this view, by now, because she just pushes him onto his mattress and starts cleaning up the mess he has brought himself into again.

She says nothing, doesn't even scold him as she normally does. She just cleans the wound, puts on a healing poultice and wraps him in white, clean bandages. Cloud watches her, her black hair, her fair skin, her dark eyes, concentration on her beautiful face. Finally, she leans back on her heels, sighting softly.

"That should do it."

Her eyes meet his.

"Cloud…"

She's going to apologize, he can see it in her expression. It's mixed with anguish, though, because she knows exactly what he had been doing and what he had wanted to achieve by getting himself into deep shit again. He silences her by lifting his hand to her lips.

"Ssh. Tifa."

Surprise is mirrored on her pretty features. He wraps a strand of her raven hair around his hand and slowly pulls her over, until his lips meet hers.

Kissing Tifa is so different from kissing Aerith. She's not soft and willing but stiff and unresponsive and she tastes like cigarette smoke and vanilla. Kissing Aerith was like inhaling the scent of a flower garden. Tifa is different. 

_Kissing Tifa is like returning to the place he never knew was home. _

He has hurt her badly. He can see it in her eyes: She doesn't believe – doesn't want to believe – what he is trying to tell her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I should have told you long ago. It was just… I couldn't."

She's still so close he can see her eyes glittering.

"You couldn't do what?"

He smiles.

"I couldn't tell you I love you."

Slowly, very slowly, her features light up. First in surprise. Then in disbelief. Then… Then in hope.

"Are… are you sure?"

He smiles, his lips on hers.

"Quite."

When he kisses her this time, she responds. And he can see himself mirrored in her eyes.

There's no need for separate rooms any longer. And he still can't believe she belongs to him, even when she's sleeping next to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head buried in his chest.


End file.
